


I don’t love you (but I always will)

by spilled_notes



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 04:38:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8830690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spilled_notes/pseuds/spilled_notes
Summary: A set of tiny snapshots of moments in their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for lunacatriona's contest on Tumblr, for the prompt _Poison and Wine_ by The Civil Wars.
> 
> This was something of an experiment for me - I'm often inspired by song lyrics but I've never written anything like this before. Still, it's always good to have a challenge! Keeping it to the word limit was also a challenge, hence why each section is so short...

_ you only know what I want you to _

‘I’ll arm wrestle you for it.’

Bernie stares at her in disbelief. Of all the ways Serena could have chosen to decide which of them gets the pleasure of yanking a tap out of a patient, this wouldn’t even have been on her list of possibilities.

Serena’s already having a bad day. Hearing her crying with laughter lifted Bernie’s heart and in that moment, seeing the challenging glint in Serena’s eyes, Bernie knows she’s going to let her win.

Without Serena knowing, of course. She puts on a good show, acts surprised.

It’s worth it for Serena’s cry of victory, for the teasing tone of her voice. Bernie sits back in her chair, feeling considerably more pleased with herself than she would if she’d won.

 

_ I know everything you don’t want me to _

Serena’s day goes from bad to worse. Drained by the realisation that the leak is her fault she can’t muster the strength required.

‘Bit more oomph,’ Bernie suggests.

So she tries again, but it’s no use.

And then Bernie walks around the table, and with apparently no effort the tap is out and handed over to Fletch.

Bernie refuses to admit it but Serena knows she could easily have won their arm wrestle. She’s certain she should be annoyed at the deception. Instead she finds it – well, sweet actually, that her stubborn, competitive colleague – friend – would do this to cheer her up.

Serena doesn’t generally hold with lies, but this one she’ll let slip.

_Add it to the list_ , she thinks, _of things Bernie can somehow get away with_.

 

_ your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine _

‘You are the most fantastic, fearless doctor in this entire hospital.’

When the words slip from Serena’s mouth she finds herself believing them, believing she isn’t to blame.

And oh, the feel of their lips pressed together, the way Serena’s hands slide into her hair to keep her close. Not that she’s going anywhere, not now Serena has kissed her back, god how could she?

*

‘Wishing I were dead.’

‘You’ve terrified the life out of me.’

Bernie had hoped. Tried not to – tried _so hard_ not to – but hoped nevertheless. Against her better judgement, as it turns out.

Hope crumbles. Happiness turns to ash in her mouth.

 

_ you think your dreams are the same as mine _

‘You want to forget it ever happened?’ Serena’s heart sinks, and she tries not to let it show.

‘I think it’s wise?’

_Foolish,_ she berates herself as Bernie sits at her own desk. _Why would Berenice bloody Wolfe want a middle-aged, formerly-straight-currently-undecided woman like me?_

She takes a gulp of wine, risks a glance up to see Bernie’s eyes fixed on her computer, hands clasped in front of her.

_Forget it ever happened, Campbell. Or at least forget you ever wanted it to happen again._

 

_ I don’t love you, but I always will _

_She doesn’t want me_.

Bernie’s heart sinks. She’s taken her own advice for once, spent the time away examining her heart, thinking about what she wants.

Turns out that it’s Serena.

It’s terrifying – right up until she admits it to herself and then suddenly it isn’t.

She comes back ready to open her heart, bare her soul, take the leap.

But apparently she’s too late, is going to have to hide what she’s finally acknowledged, accepted, embraced.

And now it’s too late to stop herself feeling it.

 

_ I wish you’d hold me when I turn my back _

She’s desperately trying to hold it together, arms wrapped around herself, staring fixedly at a tree, blinking rapidly to discourage the gathering tears. She’s boiling with rage and grief at how _bloody unfair_ it is. She thinks she might have got away with it, when Bernie doesn’t seem to hear the waver in her voice. But oh, her soft concern is too much, and out it all pours.

For a moment Bernie doesn’t quite know what to do: outpourings of emotion are not even close to her comfort zone. But then she puts a hand on Serena’s shoulder, rubs gently as Serena swipes angrily at her eyes.

‘Don’t be nice to me,’ she warns, holding herself rigid. ‘You’ll- you’ll make it worse.’

Bernie considers doing as she’s told, but somehow she knows that isn’t what Serena wants. Instead she steps closer and slides her hand across Serena’s back, gently coaxing. Serena’s head tilts towards hers, so close Bernie can smell her shampoo. She feels her soften just a little, and lets out a breath of relief.

 

_ the less I give the more I get back _

After their kiss, frantic and desperate and _needed_ , Bernie retreats. She’s not in the right place to start a relationship, Serena’s straight, it _is_ wise to put it behind them. That doesn’t mean she wants to, though. No, she wants very much to explore where this could go, to kiss Serena again.

But Serena clearly doesn’t want that, so Bernie locks her heart away. It takes a while to rebalance, but she’s rewarded with Serena’s friendship.

It’s hard, when she can’t stop thinking about what more they could have, could be. Can’t stop thinking about Serena’s lips on hers, Serena’s hands in her hair, Serena’s body pressed so close. But she’ll take this over losing her friend any day.

 

_ your hands can heal, your hands can bruise _

They spend their lives piecing broken bodies back together, pinning shattered bone and stitching torn flesh. Bernie is incredible. Sometimes Serena can’t help but watch in awe as she works, determined not to let a single patient down.

*

Bernie’s hands left no marks on her skin but Serena feels burned just the same. Burned by the desperate want in her eyes, her lips, her grasping fingers.

Burned by the way she pushed her away. The way her hand slipped from Serena’s, however much she tried to hold onto her.

*

Later she’ll discover that Bernie’s hands (and lips, and teeth) leave very visible marks on her skin, purpling bruises and raised scratches where passion has made her a little too enthusiastic. Not that Serena minds. Especially not when, repentant and horrified, Bernie ghosts gentle fingers and lips over them, feather light touches Serena will feel for the rest of the day, that linger in her memory long after the marks have faded.

 

_ I don’t have a choice, but I still choose you _

It’s the only thing she can think about. When she wakes up, when she’s in her tiny office, in theatre (it’s a miracle she doesn’t lose anyone on the table, really). Every night in her cold flat.

_Serena_.

She’s never felt this lonely, this empty. Like a part of her is missing.

Leaving wasn’t a choice, she was so driven by fear.

Coming back isn’t a choice either.

 

_ I don’t love you, but I always will _

Serena loves her. Is _in_ love with her. It should feel like a revelation, surely, or come as a shock. In the end, though, it’s just very matter of fact, just the way things are.

_I’m in love with Berenice Wolfe._

Not that she’s going to mention it to the woman herself, of course. Not yet, anyway.

 

_ I always will _

Wrapped together in bed, on the sofa, an embrace in their office. The words might not have been spoken but they’re apparent in everything they do. They argue, yes. Disagree, fight, hurt each other. But this is where they always return to: each other’s side, each other’s arms.

Devotion shines from their eyes. Across the ward, the open body in theatre, a table at Albie’s, the scant space between them when they wake.

Neither voices it but this feels like forever. She doesn’t _need_ Bernie to survive, Bernie doesn’t _need_ her. But they are both incontrovertibly altered, irreversibly changed. And oh, isn’t the world so much better experienced like this – together?


End file.
